TIFF 2025: Day Two

"It’s a very well-scripted progression as Levack finds a way to authentically let [Grace] think she’s acting under her own volition while ensuring the audience clearly sees Chevy’s manipulations."

Full thoughts at The Film Stage.

Laura (Paula Beer) is seemingly lost in a daze when we meet her at the beginning of Christian Petzold's Mirrors No. 3. So much so that I half expected the man in the apartment she eventually enters to ask who she is and why she wandered into his home. He instead reveals himself to be her boyfriend and his only question is why it took so long for her to return considering the ride for their weekend away from Berlin was waiting in the car below. So, Laura's sleepwalking did ultimately find a familiar destination. That truth, however, doesn't mean she woke up.

The only thing earning a semblance of interest and attention is a woman (Barbara Auer's Betty) painting her fence as they speed past. Why? We don't know. Maybe she looked familiar. Maybe Laura yearned for the quiet solitude of the activity. Whatever it was, the moment proves fleeting as her malaise returns to the point of telling her boyfriend she wants to go back home just as they're all about to board a boat. His impulse is to talk her into staying. Their hosts toss them the car keys so he can quickly drop her off at the station and come back by himself.

That's when fate intervenes. I use "fate" rather than "bad luck" because the latter could have happened anywhere. Driving off the road and almost hitting Betty feels more pointed. Crashing the car directly after apologizing to her so that she can come to Laura's rescue ... that feels preordained. What we don't realize in the moment, though, is that her destiny might not be the driving force of this coincidence. Laura is the character we've been following and the one who survives this horrific tragedy. But it's Betty who possesses the most to gain.

We see it in her face when Laura clocks her from the car. We see it again when she sits in a chair by Laura's bed as she sleeps after agreeing to let her stay and recover rather than go to the hospital. We begin to know what it is when Betty lets the name Yelena slip out before correcting it. And that assumption is all but confirmed once more coincidences arise. The clothes in Betty's spare room all fitting. Laura attending university for piano. The dish she chooses to cook as a thank you just happening to be the favorite of Betty's husband and son.

In great Petzold fashion, this revelation is less about its fluky nature and more the fact we didn't know Betty had a family. It leads to a wonderfully comical and heartfelt sequence wherein Richard (Matthias Brandt) and Max (Enno Trebs) are prepared to engage in a very serious conversation about her stopping her medication until Laura pops out of the kitchen. It's like they've seen a ghost as they lose the ability to speak while Betty simply sits back and smiles. The dial of time turns back right before our eyes and this trio's demons melt away.

The film suddenly becomes a ticking time bomb until the truth is revealed. Not only to us, but Laura too. She knows something is amiss from their looks and whispers (as well as the constant stares from strangers passing by on the road) but doesn't actively seek answers because this time away from her life has proven rejuvenating. Why not ride the wave of their kindness and company? Why not recuperate and see where things go? It's not like Betty or Richard want to ruin the fantasy. The quartet's dynamic remains symbiotic by remaining silent.

The beauty of Mirrors No. 3 is that Petzold never strays from the scenario's sweetness regardless of the exploitative nature of what's happening. You almost wonder if Laura's justifiable anger is more a result of the mirage shattering than of the lie by omission that create it. And by imperceptibly shifting the perspective so that everything after the inevitable fracture occurs from Betty's vantage, the idea that Laura was always the real guardian angel of this equation truly solidifies. Just try not to think about the random dude who had to die first.

It's a testament to Petzold's craft that he can conjure something as self-contained and quaint as this narrative while still packing an emotional punch. That wallop might put the smile Beer delivers during the final frame upon our own faces, but who said an uplifting sentiment can't still hold enough power to leave a mark? I don't think anyone would after having Auer's delicate performance (augmented by Brandt and Trebs) remind them how important hope and love are to overcoming grief. We need more sweet gems like this.

8/10